Before I’d finished opening the front door, Grandma pushed past me and vanished into Starlight. Veering to the left she moved down the hallway hung with first nation paintings, stopped once or twice to peer at some detail, then speeding up once more, dissolved into shadow.
“Don’t mind me dear,” her voice echoed in her wake, “just looking for something.”
It took me a while to lug the heavy aluminium cases into the space at the bottom of the living room stairs. I was intrigued of course, but it wasn’t as if I could pick them up and give them a shake.
Silence settled upon the house, then slowly came the faint sounds of blinds being drawn, drawers being opened and closed, the rattle of metallic objects, the clack of booted heels on wood, and once, soft chimes from my mum and dad’s bedroom, followed by the sound of the shower in their on-suite. I wondered if I should look for a fresh towel, but then the water stopped and the boot clacks continued, becoming fainter as she moved at some speed to the back of the house. More silence, then the scrape of furniture being dragged across the wooden floor, a long pause, then the rattle of a key in being inserted into a lock, a distant clunk, followed by the slow creak of an opening door. Then prolonged stillness. What was she looking for?
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